


Love At First Bite

by PeriPeriwinkle



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle
Summary: Bull and Dorian, professional head chefs of two different restaurants in the small city of Skyhold, set up a date after they visit each other's business and taste each other's food.It is literally love at first bite.





	Love At First Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuditoryCheesecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/gifts).



> This is my Adoribull Holiday Exchange gift for AuditoryCheesecake!!! as a lover of all things food, I had SO MUCH FUN OK. the prompt was: **"Modern AU where one or both of them are professional chefs, and the wooing is done through SPECTACULAR FOOD."**
> 
> I may have gone way overboard with this. worth it tho
> 
> happy holidays! <3

 

Dorian takes over the kitchen in a failing restaurant in Skyhold when he’s twenty-eight, just after he flees Tevinter. It’s the only place that even took the time to interview him and try out his food - everyone else would hear _Tevinter_ and come up with a flimsy excuse why they couldn’t hire him as a cook, much less as a chef, no matter that he had years and years of experience in a high class restaurant back in his homeland.

The place has countless negative reviews online, and a reputation that no one in town envies. Dorian’s hired as the head chef because the last one stormed out not three days before, and the owner is desperate for anyone willing to replace him. Dorian almost falls on his ass when he sees the state of both the kitchen and the restaurant. _Dirty fuckers_ , he thinks to himself as he scrubs the stove and the floors and the blighted _ceiling_. Doing so isn’t anywhere in his job description but _fuck him with a rusty spatula_ if either him or any of his subordinates are going to cook in the middle of this filth.

The staff looks gobsmacked when they arrive the next day; all appliances look almost brand new, the floor is shining, dishes and cutlery are washed and properly stored, gone are the stained tablecloths on the dining area, and all the food is properly labeled and dated both on the freezer and the walk-in fridge.

“Now,” Dorian says, clasping his hands together, “From now on, I’d like for all of you to remember: follow my instructions and we shall make it through. Argue with me, and you’ll be sent home. Are we clear?”

One of the prep cooks snorts, rolls his eyes. “As if. You’re not our boss, you can’t tell us to go home. ”

“Maybe I don’t sign your paychecks, true,” Dorian agrees, nodding, his voice rising with each word he says. “But I _am_ the head chef, which means that my word is _law_ in this kitchen. So you’ll do _exactly_ as I say, and any and all complaints regarding my person or any concerns regarding my authority shall be directed to the owner for her to handle as she pleases.”

The prep cook freezes; the last few words out of Dorian’s mouth boom and echo against the walls. One of the cooks looks pleased, holding back a snicker, while another looks frightened. Dorian knows how he sounds when he pulls out his _magister_ voice; took him years to master it. He breathes out slowly through his nose, and nods when no one else objects.

“Well, now. Barely anyone comes to this blighted restaurant anymore, so I trust you’ll be more than capable to handle a dinner rush of ten whole people. Shall we begin?”

In just a week Dorian has completely taken command of the kitchen; the staff listens to him, obeys him at the blink of an eye, and actually clean up after themselves. Dorian gets a compliment from one of the patrons on his sixth day, and they pop open a bottle of wine to celebrate after the restaurant is closed. The next day, however, he kicks out the mouthy prep cook out of the kitchen for disrespecting and ignoring him one too many times, and the man promptly calls Dagna, the owner, to report it, threatening to have her fire him for his _insolence_.

Dagna has her heart in the right place, but she seems incapable of disciplining her employees and hasn’t got a lick of a clue of how to run a business. She comes to speak to Dorian at the end of his shift, after everyone's gone home for the day, and not five minutes later she’s weeping, ranting about how she’s drowning in debt and how none of her employees listen to her, how that’s not the first time Samson’s tried going against his higher ups because he refuses to obey anyone who’s several years younger than him. Dorian puts a hand on her shoulder and fetches a leftover chocolate tart from dinner service, which she devours with gusto.

“With your blessing, I can help you turn this place around, my dear. You just say the word and I’ll get everything and everyone in shape.”

She looks up at him with wide, watery eyes. “You could do that?” She asks, her lower lip trembling. Dorian chuckles.

“It would be my pleasure.”

They both call for a staff meeting the next morning, right before prep service starts, and Dagna happily tells the staff about her decision to make Dorian her business partner. The general feeling is of support, but as she starts talking about the plans they have for the future of the restaurant, Samson snaps.

“You can’t be serious! By the Maker, boss, I knew you were clueless, but I never pegged you for being this dim-witted!”

Dagna widens her eyes, taken aback. The staff crew has their jaws dropped open. One of the youngest employees gasps.

“ _Excuse me?!_ ”

“You heard me fine. That snobby, rich, frilly know-it-all is trying to get to your money, your business! He just got to Skyhold and already he wants to tell everyone what to do! We were doing just fine before he came, but now he’s made everyone believe he’s so much better than all of us! It’s _infuriating_!”

Dagna’s face is red, either with embarrassment or anger, but most probably both. Although livid, Dorian keeps his own expression impassive, simply watching the events unfold.

“Samson, you are _completely_ out of line. My business decisions and the reasons why I reached them are my own, and you have no right to disrespect me or your direct superior like this.” Samson opens his mouth to talk back, but Dagna interrupts him, lifting a finger in the air. “ _No_. _I_ am talking right now. Might I remind you and everyone else that my restaurant has _not_ been _doing just fine_ for a very long time, as you seem to believe, and it was only _after_ Dorian came that things started turning around, in merely a week of employment nevertheless.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! Are you seriously allowing a filthy ‘Vint take credit for all your hard work? Your merit?!”

“That's it, Samson. Out.”

Samson’s brows furrow. One of the serving girls smiles like someone’s just told her she just won a thousand sovereigns.

“Come again?”

Dagna’s shaking in her boots, not looking very intimidating, but she has her back straight and her words firm and clear. “Y-you heard me. You’re _fired_. Take your things and leave, right now. I’ll deposit your last paycheck, and call you in a few days to sign your papers, but you are no longer welcome in my kitchen. _Out_.”

Samson’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, and Dagna snaps.

“ _Now!_ ”

One of the biggest cooks steps into Samson’s space threateningly, arms crossed, and Samson curses up a storm but leaves, banging the back door behind him. Dorian places a hand over Dagna's shoulder and commends her bravery, and the smile that blooms across her face makes her glow.

She looks back at her employees. “Forgive me for this... scene. I wish you all didn’t have to see it.”

“You kidding me?” One of the prep cooks exclaims, slapping his thigh. “This was better than any of my TV shows! You just can’t make that shit up!”

Everyone laughs, Dagna included, and the tension seems to melt away from everyone. “Now,” Dagna says, clasping her hands together. “About our new plans for the restaurant.”

 

\---

 

It takes them a while to turn the place around, but it pays off. Now the restaurant is actually making money Dagna can settle her debt, and immediately renovates the restaurant; something simple that doesn’t cost her a lot of money, but manages to give the place a cleaner, younger look. Dorian convinces her to also change its name, so The Alchemist’s Den becomes The Undercroft; a new brand, a new look, a new menu. A fresh start. Positive reviews for The Undercroft start flooding in online, which brings new and old people in, and in two years the restaurant is elected as one of Skyhold’s hottest spots for dining, and Dorian as one of the most promising chefs in potentially all of Ferelden.

Another place that is also featured the list is a restaurant called Horns Up. It opened about a year after Dorian’s move to Skyhold, and after a particularly glowing review in the local paper, Dorian goes along with Dagna and her wife Sera to check it out.

They eat what appears to be a traditional Seheron dish, made of cooked bananas and plenty of spices wrapped in a thin corn bread wrapping. It’s a glorious mix of sweet and savory street food with a fancy twist to it, and Dagna is so impressed she insists on meeting the chef, who is glad to introduce himself.

Dorian stares.

The chef is the biggest qunari he’s ever seen - granted, Dorian’s only ever seen a few, more specifically the ones that live in Skyhold and have visited his restaurant, but this man stands at least a head taller than the tallest qunari he’s seen. He introduces himself as The Iron Bull, and his smile is warm and his laugh is deep. Dorian doesn’t really mean to, but he flirts, only a little - but as he’s kicking himself internally for his lack of tact, the man flirts right back, lays it on him quite heavily. He winks at Dorian with his single eye, and Dorian blushes.

“Fancy britches has an admirer!” Sera sing songs once they’re driving back to Dagna’s, and Dorian huffs. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“He is a rather handsome man, I must concede,” Dorian admits, looking out the window. “And he is most talented at his craft as well. Both very desirable traits in a man.”

“Ugh, you sound like you’re analyzing him like one of your dishes!” Sera moans, rolling her head back against her seat and staring at Dorian upside down. “Just woo him already! Maker knows you spend way too much time working and not having some hanky-panky fun.”

Dorian doesn’t reply, but what Sera says sticks with him. Bull is rather handsome, and seems rather nice, and by Andraste, can he cook. Dare he say, almost as well as he does.

An idea strikes him.

Maybe he can use it to his advantage.

 

\---

 

Bull comes to eat at Dorian’s restaurant a week later, bringing a group of people along. Dorian peeks from the kitchen door; they’ve filled a table of eight, are eating for twelve, and they’re loud but not disruptive of the other patrons. And they seem to be enjoying his food, which is the best part.

Dagna punches him in the arm, and Dorian scowls as he rubs his bicep; the woman has a heavy arm on her. “Do something, Dorian! This is your chance!”

And something he does indeed; the entire table orders small, chocolate treats for dessert. Dorian steps aside and starts working on a decadent chocolate tart, complete with sugar clouds, caramelized pecans on top, and a hefty side of whipped cream drizzled with tart strawberry sauce.

When Dagna delivers it personally - “A gift from an amazing chef to another,” she says, getting a rise from the table at large and a high eyebrow from Bull - Dorian tries to peek again through the kitchen’s window.

Bull cuts a slice of the tart with his fork, puts it in his mouth...

...and moans so loudly the patrons of three different tables turn to stare.

Dorian considers it a victory.

 

\---

 

Dorian’s just finishing scrubbing the stove after the dinner rush when a knock comes from the restaurant’s back door. When he opens it, Bull’s standing outside with a bag on his hands.

“Thought I’d say thank you for that tart the other week. You like kumquat, right?”

“Please, I don’t know any good Tevinter who doesn’t. Come on in.”

Dorian accepts the bag from Bull, and inside he finds a beautiful golden box, wrapped in a pink bow. Inside the box is a delicate mousse cake, its colour a shiny yellow mirror glaze that speaks of citrus goodness, topped with thin kumquat slices.

“Gorgeous,” he says, smiling, as he takes the cake out of the box. “But will it taste as good as it looks?”

“If it doesn’t, then I’m not doing my job right.”

Dorian doesn’t worry, and truly he didn’t have to; the sweet is so light the spoon sinks into it like a hot knife through soft butter, and the taste is a wonderful balance of tangy, but not too tangy; sweet, but not too sweet. Dorian finishes it in three bites and wishes for more.

“Do you approve, chef Pavus?” Bull asks, smiling shyly, and Dorian licks his thumb, where some of the mirror glaze came off.

He takes note of how the man’s eyes follow his lips and tongue, and how his throat moves as he swallows.

“It is certainly the best kumquat sweet I’ve ever tasted,” he admits, and Bull lights up like a Wintersend pine tree. “You should tell me how to make it, one of these days.”

“Over dinner, perhaps?”

Dorian lifts a brow. “Why, chef Bull, I’d say this rather sounds like an invitation to a date. Am I correct in assuming so?”

“Depends,” Bull says, his voice lower than it was a moment ago, as he takes a step closer to Dorian, who doesn’t move from where he is, leaning back against his kitchen island. He looks up at the man and grins. “Do you want to be?”

“Correct? Very much so.”

“Then yes, it’s a date, chef Pavus.”

 

\---

 

They make arrangements for Bull to come to Dorian’s house later in the week, and Bull tells him that he doesn’t have any food allergies nor is he picky, so the sky's the limit when it comes to Dorian’s culinary plans.

On the planned night Dorian cooks like his life depends on it.

It doesn’t, not really; but Bull is a chef as great as he is, and he’d hate to not present his very best. Or _worse_ , give him a bad impression. So he cooks with millimetric precision and utmost care, being careful not to ruin anything.

Bull arrives at seven, sharp - in all the meanings of the word. He’s got a white and crisp button up on, and a black, velvety-looking jacket that makes him look regal. Dorian gulps and thanks the maker he chose his fancy jeans - the ones that hugs him in all the right places -  and a new v-neck shirt.

Dorian takes the blazer from him, and after thinking on it he lets his hand brush and linger on the man’s massive arms for a bit longer than necessary. Bull grins, but doesn’t comment on it.

Dinner is a simple affair, but one that Dorian is most proud of. He cooks a creamy and garlic-y cauliflower and cheese risotto, accompanied by a chicken so heavily spiced it’s impossible to tell what its original color was. He tried the recipe twice at the restaurant during the week, offering it as a special, and both times it was an astounding success, so although nervous he feels pretty confident.

Dorian puts the risotto onto the table, serves them both hefty portions, lays a piece of chicken on the side, and sits down on his chair. Bull looks to be salivating.

“Damn. You didn’t hold back, huh?”

“Not at all,” Dorian says, pouring them both wine. “And thus I hope that you don’t either, in case you feel like you might want seconds.”

“Shit yeah,” Bull says, excited, and lifts his glass of wine. “To a terrific dinner.”

Dorian clink their glasses, they sip the wine, and Bull digs in.

Dorian tries some of the risotto along with a small piece of the chicken. Perfect, of course; the garlic is obviously present, but not overpowering; the cauliflower isn’t watery, and you can taste it perfectly alongside the rice, and the two types of cheeses he added compliment each other perfectly. The chicken adds a hearty kick to the dish, moist and perfectly cooked, the skin on top thin and crunchy. Dorian is proud of what he’s accomplished, but he’s not the person he wants to impress tonight.

He looks up as he chews his rat-sized bite, and focuses on Bull.

Bull has his eye closed. He’s chewing a big bite of both the chicken and the risotto, given by his plate, and he’s breathing quite heavily through his nose. When he opens them, he focuses back on the plate in front of him, taking another piece of chicken and a big fork of risotto, and almost inhales it.

“You _have_ to give me this recipe,” Bull moans, mouth half-full, and Dorian giggles.

“Gladly,” he says, taking another sip of his wine and lifting a single brow. “What do I get in return?”

Bull gives him a sultry look. Dorian shivers.

Maybe they can skip dessert. It’s for a good cause, after all.

 

\---

 

They indeed skip dessert, and Dorian feasts on something else other than sugary treats. He makes good on his promise and brings Bull the aforementioned recipe first thing in the morning, which makes Bull laugh, plus the bowl of strawberries and whipped cream he’d kept safely in the fridge, which gives Bull ideas.

They get utterly distracted with the cream, as Dorian hoped they would, and it’s long past ten before Bull is out the door, recipe safely tucked in his pocket and a promise to see Dorian once more in just three days time - this time at Bull’s house.

On the day for date number two Dorian dresses up just as Bull did, with a silk black shirt, the same pair of tight jeans fo the previous dinner, since Bull seemed to appreciate them greatly, and a shimmery, dark pink tie. When Bull opens the door to greet him, his eyes immediately go to the tie, and Dorian can almost hear the ideas he’s having, just like when Dorian looks at a particularly beautiful ingredient in his kitchen and starts coconoting ways to cook it and elevate it unto a delicious work of art.

It makes him all tingly to see Bull analyzing him in much the same way. He feels bold in ways he never thought to be before leaving Tevinter.

Wordlessly, Dorian leans up and places a kiss over Bull’s lips, who returns the kiss without a thought.

“Evening, handsome,” Dorian says, and Bull chuckles.

“Evening yourself. Hungry?”

“Oh yes. _Very_.”

“Good, because food’s warm and waiting.”

Dorian fakes a confused look. “Who said anything about food?”

Bull lets out a low, rumbly growl. “Big guy, you sure know how to make someone forget all about the food they’ve been cooking for the last three hours.”

Dorian hums. “It _would_ be rude to let it go to waste like that.” He pulls back, straightens his back and gives his most charming smile. “Lead the way?”

“Gladly,” Bull says, stepping aside to let Dorian enter his apartment.

The food is _heavenly_. Crab cakes served in fancy clam shells, creamy shrimp and lobster soup, warm and soft bread to dip in the food. Dorian’s mouth tingles with the spices, but it’s just the right level to not be too much and also not too little. He can taste all the flavors, none of them overpowering each other, and Dorian could cry with how good they are together.

“Your hands are _magical_ ,” Dorian moans around a mouthful. Bull laughs. “I’m serious. Both in and out of the kitchen.”

“I’m flattered,” Bull says, smiling. He’s already finished his own food, but Dorian’s taking his time, almost sad to think about letting the meal end, no matter the promise of what comes afterwards. It is _that_ good.

Once Dorian cleans his plate, Bull takes the dishes away and brings little yellow cakes, topped with fresh berries and a dollop of whipped cream. Dorian is almost disappointed to not go straight to the after-dinner affair, but once he gets a look at how nice dessert is he decides that if he waited so far he can certainly wait a few more minutes.

He cuts into it, the filling overflowing onto the plate - a molten lava cake, Dorian notes - and gets a taste for the flavor, lifting his brows in surprise. _Lemon_ , of all things.

“I’m using you as test subject,” Bull laughs, but he doesn’t look too worried about it, given Dorian’s reaction. “You like it?”

“It’s-- _gorgeous_. Perfect. So nice and tart. Congratulations, you have rendered me speechless. Ask Sera and Dagna and they’ll tell you how hard that feat is.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I remember rendering you speechless quite a few times three nights ago.”

Dorian feels his cheeks heating. Bull smiles, and it sends a shiver down Dorian’s spine.

He scrapes the plate of the last vestiges of lemon creamy goodness, taking the time to recover slightly. He licks his lips and his spoon with his whole tongue, then bends over the table until he’s literally straddling Bull’s half-empty plate with his elbows. Bull doesn’t look bothered; he simply leans forward until they’re nose to nose.

“Since we’re trading roles back and forth, then how about I render _you_ speechless this time?”

Bull smiles and kisses Dorian, tasting the lemon and berries on his tongue.

“I look forward to it.”

Dorian makes good on his promise. Multiple times. He wakes up to homemade cinnamon rolls and chocolate almond milk.

Ina  brief moment of pure joy, Dorian thinks to himself he wants to wake up next to Bull everyday for the rest of his life. It scares him, but it also makes him _hope_.

 

\---

 

Bull and Dorian keep on dating, and cooking to each other becomes the standard. Cupcakes and cheesecakes, pasta and lasagnas, pies and souffles, and anything else they can think of. They constantly trade recipes and personal tips and exquisite orgasms, and Dorian is the happiest he’s ever been. Bull’s friends, who quickly become acquainted with Dorian, assure him Bull acts like a sappy shit whenever he’s with Dorian, or thinking of Dorian, or talking about Dorian. Which is pretty much all the time. Bull looks embarrassed when they tease him about it during their monthly dinner, but Cremisius later assures Dorian that the chief is happy, and that because of it he figures Dorian isn’t all that bad either.

The next day, Dorian delivers a whole box of homemade nougat with pistachios and almonds to Cremisius’ house. He then shares it with Bull’s crew, given how everyone happily mention the nougat the next time they all go out for drinks, making Dorian promise to make them again as soon as possible; Dorian feels like he’s been officially accepted into the group. Bull looks impossibly proud.

If this is how life is going to be from now on, then Dorian is pretty okay with it.

All in all, it’s a delicious future to look forward to.


End file.
